I used the two-hour trip to relate how my brother and I had grown up in a situation where any word or action, no matter how innocent, might trigger my father’s violent, trip-wire temper. We moved through life like blind swimmers in a cottonmouth bayou, afraid in all directions.
My father’s searing, illogical anger centered on Jeremy, who, from the time he was ten, became our father’s chief target. In later years I came to believe it was because Jeremy bore a close physical resemblance to my father.
“My God, Carson,” Danbury whispered. “You spent every second walking on eggshells.”
“It was far worse for Jeremy, every day a nightmare. I think it’s why his senses are so acute, hyper-attuned. He lives in a world where everything’s at maximum volume, a distorting volume. Not just sound, but all senses. Accordingly, his observations and reactions are weighted far differently than ours.”
We arrived, passed through the guards and gates. Dr Prowse was away, but we were expected. We were escorted to Jeremy’s room by a guard who knew me from previous visits, was aware that Dr Prowse allowed me exceptional latitude in dealing with my brother. The guard poised his fingers over the electronic lock. “The same procedure as usual, Detective Ryder, keep the door shut while you’re in there?”
“Yes. Though I’ll be out to retrieve this.” I set a rolled-up white beach towel beside the door and stepped aside as the guard keyed in the lock code. Danbury’s hand wrapped mine.
“Are you worried?” I asked.
“A little. I don’t know what to expect.”
“I never do either. Just don’t tell him you’re a reporter. He hates them.”
“Why?”
“He saw his crimes as a personal mission, a holy vendetta. He’s never forgiven the media for referring to him as a murderous psychopath, what he perceives as a misreading of his intentions. Like I said, his perceptions are skewed, often mirror-images of reality.”
The door opened, soundless on its heavy hinges. Jeremy was framed in the doorway, five steps away, staring through cool blue eyes.
“Hello, Jeremy,” I said, crossing the threshold. “I’d like you to meet a good friend of mine, DeeDee Danbury.”
Jeremy grabbed my arm and pulled me across the room, hissing in my ear. “DeeDee? What the fuck’s a DeeDee? Who is this bitch? Where’s AVA? Where’s my sweet little nightingale?”
Though he despised her gender, my brother convinced himself of a bond with Ava based on her being a pathologist: that her hands moved inside the dead had elevated her in Jeremy’s eyes.
“Ava’s in Fort Wayne, Jeremy. You know that. Skip the bullshit.”
He scowled and mock-whispered in my ear, loud enough for Danbury to hear. “What kind of work does Lady PeePee perform? Does it involve long hours on her knees?”
“I’ve got no time for games, Jeremy. Have Trey Forrier stop by for a visit.”
Jeremy turned to Danbury. “He brings all his whores here, you know. He fucks them in front of me. They go at it on the floor like goats. It takes a janitor two hours to mop up all the juice.”
“Can it, Jeremy. I need Forrier. Now.”
Jeremy crossed his arms, tapped his toe, and regarded Danbury impatiently. “Miss Ava, my brother’s former love-kettle, was a pathologist. That gave us several things in common. Are you a pathologist, Miss TeeTee? If not, may I ask how you earn your living? Assuming it’s something that can be mentioned in polite company.”
I said, “Ms Danbury does research for Harry and me. I don’t have time for games, Jeremy. Have Trey Forrier stop by for a visit.”
He raised a pale eyebrow. “What kind of research?”
“Right now that’s my business.”
“What do you want from Trey?”
“Same answer.”
There was a knock and the door opened. A second guard leaned in, a younger guy I’d seen a time or two. “Excuse me, Mr Ryder? I just came on the clock. We’ve met, my name’s Albert Jenkins; I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”
“Please keep the door shut, Mr Jenkins.”
“Yes sir.” Jenkins looked up, saw Danbury. His eyes lit with recognition. “I know you. You’re on TV.”
Jeremy’s head snapped to Danbury. “BeeBee’s on TeeVee?” He studied her with sudden interest. “What do you do, if I may ask?”
I winced. “Mr Jenkins, we’re having a private conversation here.”
“Sorry.” He closed the door.
Jeremy let his eyes range over Danbury. “Are you an actress, Miss WeeWee? I thought all actresses today had great big titties. Are you a struggling actress, still getting small parts?”
She looked at me. I shrugged, nodded, tell him. He’d pick away at her until he found out the truth.
“I’m a journalist, Mr Ridgecliff.”
“A journalist?” he whispered.
“Yes. A reporter for Channel 14 in Mobile.”
I expected an explosive rant about television news, whores, corruption of the soul, profit-based sensationalism…his usual litany of invective. He surprised me, widening his eyes and crossing his hands across his chest.
“The MEDIA? Visiting little ol’ me? Is this my breakthrough, my FIFTEEN MINUTES OF FAME? Do I need an agent? A personal stylist?” He ran to the mirror and fussed with his blond hair as if preparing for a photograph.
I said, “Get Forrier in here, Jeremy. It’s important.”
“One minute, Carson. I’ve never met a member of the FOURTH ESTATE!” He bounded across the room with puppyish enthusiasm, sat on his bed, patted beside him. “Come sit, dear, just for a minute. I have something special to confess, an exclusive.”
Danbury sat beside Jeremy, playing along with him. “Anytime you’re ready, I’m listening.”
He mock frowned. “You’re not using your microphone. How will my adoring public hear me?”
She held her hand as if grasping a microphone and aimed it toward Jeremy’s lips. “The world awaits. What’s your exclusive, Mr Ridgecliff?”
He waggled an admonishing finger. “You didn’t announce me.”
“Come on, Jeremy,” I grumbled. “Stop messing around. We’re in a hurry.”
“Indulge me, brother. Thirty seconds, then I’ll call for Trey.”
Danbury looked into an invisible camera. “Today we’re talking to Mr Jeremy Ridgecliff, who has a message for our viewers. Care to convey your message, Mr Ridgecliff?”
“I’d be delighted.”
My brother winked into the imaginary camera, turned to Danbury and spat in her face.
Without missing a beat, she slapped him.
I pushed between them as Danbury retreated, wiping her face with her sleeve. I grabbed my brother’s shoulder, turned him to face me. “Get Forrier in here, you sorry little bastard. Now.”
“I’m sorry I hit you, Mr Ridgecliff,” Danbury said from behind me. “It was automatic. I didn’t mean to -”
“No,” I said. “Don’t apologize to him. It was a disgusting act. Get Forrier in here, Jeremy. I mean NOW.”
He spun away from me, walked to the wall and leaned against it. He pretended to buff his nails on his shirt. “I met a reporter named BeeDee, with a pussy exceedingly seedy; it’s filled with disease, and roaches and fleas, but poor Carson, alas, was unheedy.”
“I can always depend on you to be adolescent,” I said. “Do I have to get Forrier on my own?”
“He won’t come unless I invite him,” Jeremy said, looking down, continuing to buff his nails. “And that’s not going to happen. Take your face-slapping whore and leave, Carson. Maybe you could peddle her at the docks.”
I stared at him a moment, then yelled, “Guard! I want to report a cellphone.”
My brother’s eyes snapped toward me. “What are you doing?” he hissed.
“Say goodbye to the phone, Jeremy.”
The door opened and the guard leaned in. “Yes, Mr Ryder?”
“Something’s come to my attention and I’d like to…” I paused, looked at my brother.
“Request the company of our good friend, Mr Forrier,” Jeremy completed, expressionless eyes moving between me and Danbury.
I nodded at the guard. “Ms Danbury and I need to speak with Mr Forrier alone. Have my brother wait elsewhere after he invites Mr Forrier to join us.”
Jeremy started to protest. I wiggled my thumb to mimic entering numbers on a cellphone, then closed my fist to crush it. He caught my meaning, glaring back but saying nothing.
“Come with me, Mr Ridgecliff,” the guard said.
Jeremy started to follow, pausing beside Danbury. She stared into his eyes, holding her ground.
“I share a few traits with journalists, Ms BeeBee,” Jeremy said. “For instance, I interviewed five women for the position of Mommy. Guess what?”
Danbury raised an eyebrow. “What, Mr Ridgecliff?”
He grinned. “They all got the job.”
He turned and walked into the hall, then paused again, turning to smile at Danbury. “I’d dearly love to interview you, Miss FeeFee. In great depth. If I’m ever in your neighborhood, trust that I’ll certainly drop by.”
And then he was gone.
Danbury moved beside me and held my arm. “He’s so volatile, Carson. Cold and hot, charming and venomous. He’s terrifying. But I’m so sorry I slapped him. It was -”
“A natural reaction. It’s over. Don’t sweat the threat; he’ll be in here forever. Now I need you to turn on the French-speak. I think we’re about to open the door a little wider on Trey Forrier.”
I was holding her when footsteps came to the threshold.